


To Save What We Love

by Stardustjinn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Mild violence and mentions of death, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, deception arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardustjinn/pseuds/Stardustjinn
Summary: Collection of oneshots written for prompts. (usually finish-the-clone-wars Writing Wednesday)NO 4. How the 104th started their unique gunship tradition.





	1. To Save What We Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the few places not yet torn by war, and Anakin intended to keep it that way. Episode tag: Crisis on Naboo

_Home is not a place, but a feeling._

* * *

Naboo was the most beautiful planet in the Galaxy.

Leaning against the window in the west tower of Theed Royal Palace like this; watching the sun drop towards the grassy plains in the distance; listening to the roaring sounds of the surrounding waterfalls, Anakin could almost pretend that the war was nothing more than a bad nightmare from a different galaxy. Despite the circumstances it was a relief to be back here, what with the last couple of weeks being what it was, — filled with all too familiar grief, followed by the sting of betrayal and bitterness while the Force continued to charge up into an angry storm cloud with no outlet.

Although he had never actually  _lived_  here, the planet offered him a sense of comfort and warmth that allowed him to relax in a way no other place could. Not like the Jedi Temple back in Coruscant, where that strange coldness that had nothing to do with air temperature still clung around the entire building like black ink. Not like Tatooine either, whose too hot twin suns and unforgiving desert had never allowed for a single good memory, while the few better ones that he'd held so close to heart for so long had been shredded to pieces since- since the war, the shards still stabbing his conscience from time to time.

He supposed it was because of Padme, — this  _was_  her homeworld after all, — and the brief memories they shared in Varykino, after First Geonosis, had helped him cope with, well,  _everything_.

Absently, Anakin touched his right arm, tracing the line where flesh ended and metal started. Padme wasn't with him at the moment; she was needed in organizing the Festival of Light with Queen Neeyutnee and her staff. Ahsoka was with them, playing her role as the Jedi bodyguard and, hopefully, getting a chance to enjoy some small part of the festival or at least just its atmosphere. She had been excited at the prospect of going to one of the biggest festivals in Naboo, even if only as part of security detail. The change of pace and scenery should be good for her after everything that had happened recently.

Anakin's own work was more on the backstage, coordinating the security measures between the Republic's clone troopers and Naboo corps, and he hadn't had the chance, — nor the heart — to join them. Even up here, separated from the rest of the celebrating people, he could still feel the joy and happiness shared by the rest of the populace and the contrast between  _that_  and what he felt  _within_  was simply too much. He had opted to stay up here instead and wait out the remaining time alone. Up here there was no war, no duty, and no need for lies or deception. Only the soothing sound of waterfall and the soft red light of the setting sun to keep this sickening darkness in his heart at bay.

Sometimes in the field, when he was losing faith, Naboo came to his mind. When all the death and destruction was just too much to bear; when everything felt like it was falling apart and the future seemed so bleak; when it felt like he couldn't trust or count on anyone; when he wanted so much to just give up, leave the world to its own fate, to hell with obscure prophecies and unhelpful creeds and all the whisperings behind his back...

That was when he thought of Naboo.

Naboo, its beautiful lakes and lush forests tarnished by war. Naboo, falling into Separatist occupation, and into Dooku's hands. Children just like Padme's nieces living in fear, frightened for their everyday lives and the lives of their friends and families. The Gungan kingdom in pieces, its people's special quirks and talents being reduced to mere entertainment at someone else's whims...

Naboo, filled with the stench of despair and death, just like Tatooine...

That thought alone would spark the fire back to life with renewed ferocity.

Sometimes, it was the only thing that kept him going.

Sometimes, it was the only thing that he  _needed_.

The sun was halfway sunk into the horizon outside and the sky had darkened in twilight blue as the first of the evening stars heralded the arrival of night.

It was time.

Turning away from the window, he lifted his wrist comm to his mouth. "Captain Typho, we're ready to begin the Festival of Light."

"Copy that, General Skywalker. We will be heading out shortly."

Anakin took one last look outside before heading down to the plaza.

It was all he ever needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do I keep coming back to this arc...


	2. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried something new here — I was going for a sort of parallel between the flashback and the present, but I think I got too attached to everything and messed up. Feedbacks would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have no knowledge on how real sword combats are supposed to work, much less a fantasy laser one. Also this is one of the more self-indulgent fics I've done.

_This weapon is your life, Anakin had said at the beginning of their first ever training session. His eyes twinkled however, betraying his solemn voice, as if remembering an inside joke._

Three lightsabers, — two red, one green, — clashed at each other, sending sparks all over the place. They locked for a split second, before breaking apart with a flourish.

 _Blue twisting around green, deliberate and slow. Parry, and counterstrike._   _Use your opponents' attack against them. Then the pressure on hers vanished, and the other training saber zapped at her thigh playfully._

Ahsoka spun around, bringing her saber down at the opening on Ventress' right, only for it to be swiftly blocked. Then she dropped to a crouch just before the second red saber cut the air right above her head, her montrals tingling from the trail of heat. Ventress continued the assault, giving no room for recovery. It was all Ahsoka could do to keep those blades from slicing her to pieces, jumping over tables and control panels as each blow backed her further and further into the corner.

_One time there had been extra mattresses littered across the room to act as obstacles. Always be mindful of your surroundings. Their perfectly serious sparring session eventually devolved into flinging pillows at each other._

The damaged control room did not have much to throw around, and the saber work was taking all her focus either way. However, Ahsoka did spy a broken pipe hanging loose from the ceiling overhead. Getting into position, she batted away the red blade one last time and leapt, using her opponent as a stepping stone to grab the pipe, and landed on all fours on the other side.

_Put the battle on your terms. You are fast, — use it. Overwhelm them._

Ventress whirled around. This time Ahsoka was ready. Another dodge, which transitioned into a leg sweep and her boot made contact with Ventress' ankles. It did not quite have the effect she hoped, but it did the job. Ventress hissed, stumbling slightly, and that was more than enough for Ahsoka to start pressing her own series of attacks.

For one sweet moment, she was winning. Ventress gave ground, maintaining defensive. But then Ahsoka saw the other's face, and suddenly knew, — Ventress had been  _toying_  with her.

_Remember, he'd said, turning off his training saber. There was no trace of humor this time. Your focus determines your reality._

The Force sent a sharp warning across her mind and Ahsoka recognized the feint a split second too late. A searing pain shot up on her arm, followed by a sickening blow to her stomach. The world somersaulted and soon Ahsoka found herself on the ground. Her lightsaber skittered away out of reach as a pair of burning red tips filled her view.

"Your Master can't save you, youngling," Ventress taunted in a sing-song voice. A manic grin stretched across her skinny face as she raised her weapons. "They never can."

They had always taught at the Temple not to fear death. Ahsoka couldn't help it. She shut her eyes, raising her good arm to shield herself, for all the good it would do.  _Sorry, Skyguy, I tried—_

_Crack._

"You were saying?"

She looked up. There stood the tall form of Anakin Skywalker,  _her_   _master_ , — it was still hard to believe it sometimes, — eyes blazing with the same intensity as the weapon in his hand that had blocked the deadly blow in the nick of time. The control room suddenly seemed to darken.

Ventress snarled. She broke away and quickly resumed her attack to regain the upper hand. One. Two. Anakin countered each blow with his trademark powerful two-handed strokes, redirecting all the force of the attack back to where it came from. Then he pushed the air with both hands, and the Force billowed past, sending the Dark sider flying all the way to the other side. Her body slammed against the transparisteel viewport hard enough to make it crack.

Somehow, Ventress was able to stand back up immediately, though the way she held herself implied more damage than she wanted to show. Anakin twirled his saber once and shifted to a more aggressive stance, all too eager for another round.

Ventress, on the other hand, apparently had other calls. She glanced down at her comm and spat out a curse.

"Next time, Skywalker," she hissed, before fleeing the room.

Anakin watched where the Sith acolyte had disappeared for a long time, before finally powering down his weapon with a sigh. He turned to Ahsoka.

"Are you alright?" he asked, helping her up. His lips thinned at the burn mark.

Ahsoka shrugged. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She summoned her own lightsaber back, hoping her pain wasn't too noticeable.

Anakin sighed again as he reached for the first aid kit in his belt. The scolding started not a second too late. "What were you thinking? Which part of 'check on the control room for the code keys' translated into take on Ventress on your own without backup? You could have been killed!"

Oh, he did  _not_  get to say that. "I had it under control."

"Sure you did."

"Hey, I wasn't that much worse off than that time when you got stuck in a poisonous cave full of gundarks," Ahsoka snipped back. The effect was somewhat ruined with her wincing as the bacta patch stung her wound.

Anakin just shook his head as he started wrapping Ahsoka's arm with bandage, securing the patch to its place. The Force was warm with relief however, and the look of disapproval in his face veered dangerously close to laughter.

"Come on," he said once he was finished. "Rex and his men would have finished setting up the charges by now. We don't want to be late and miss our ride."

Ahsoka examined the work, her shoulders slumping. "That's the second time," she muttered.

"Hmm?"

"Second time I lost to Ventress."

For a second Anakin stared blankly. Then understanding passed his eyes and his expression softened.

"Ahsoka, look," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're gonna get better. I promise, okay?"

"...You really think so?"

"Sure." He grinned down at her. "With me teaching? You'll get better in no time. Don't worry."

Ahsoka laughed. "With you teaching? I  _should_  be worried."

 


	3. Runaway AU - Obi-Wan, Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AN] Written for tumblr prompt 'I was scared and I ran'. This has the same premise and is somewhat inspired by [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818243) by redrikki.

_Your past will always catch up with you._

* * *

"You ran away."

It was hard to keep the accusation out of his voice. All those nights he had spent wide awake, agonizing how he'd failed to keep Qui-Gon's last promise, alternating between resentment and concern as he wondered what had become of that boy... And finally, after nearly a decade, here they were, on some backwater planet systems in the Outer Rims. And Obi-Wan inexplicably found himself, of all things,  _relieved_.

"I did."

He did not apologize, though it was a near thing, the words unspoken but hanging on the air awkwardly by a tangled string of stubborness and defiance.

Apology was not what Obi-Wan was looking for, however.

"...Why?"

Anakin did not reply immediately. His gaze, though still fixed on the viewport, grew distant, remembering. His knuckles turned white as they clutched the control sticks tightly, but there was no hiding the subtle shivering of his back, or the tension in the air as the Force responded to Anakin's uncontrolled emotions and raw power.

"I was nine and scared, so I ran away."

* * *

**_[32 BBY, Royal House of Naboo]_ **

Anakin had never seen an MSE series repair droid before. He was fairly certain that this one wasn't supposed to be here either, given how lost and out of place it looked in the massive halls of Theed Royal Palace.

At first he thought it was just trying to turn the corner, but then he realized the droid was having trouble going a straight line. Upon closer look, it was clear that one of the backwheels had been misplaced from its socket.

"Hang in there," he said, squatting by its side and picking it up.

With the heel of his hand, he pushed the wheel back until it clicked into the right place. Then he gently let the mouse droid back down on the floor, where it rolled back and forth with glee. Anakin giggled at its antics as it circled around him happily, until—

"A mistake, this is."

His head snapped up at the voice. The droid fell quiet as well.

"Young Kenobi seems determined to see the boy trained."

It was a low baritone, one that belonged to the dark skinned human Jedi from the Council. The first one was that of the small ancient Jedi, the one who seemed to hold utmost respect even among the Council. They were talking in a low voice, but the marble corridor walls carried the sound far.

Or perhaps Anakin was somehow hearing things better, like he used to whenever a special customer came to the shop or something important was about to happen.

"Qui-Gon's last act of defiance, it is."

Anakin held his breath, listening. Anger was bubbling up inside him at the mention of Qui-Gon, but there was also fear. The war between those two feelings kept him rooted on the spot.

"The Council has agreed, but if you still think it's too risky..."

"Overrule the Council, I will not. But agree, I do not either."

"If we are to say no, however, what are we to do with the boy? He is too powerful. If the Sith has indeed returned..."

Too powerful. Too dangerous. Anakin looked down on his hands. Those were two words that had never applied to him before. They were words that never applied to any slave. If he was so powerful, why couldn't he help Mom?

"Back to where he came from, he should go."

Anakin's heart skipped a beat. Back to Tatooine?

Back to Tatooine meant seeing Mom again. He would see Kitster and Wald and Amee again. He would know if Jira had replaced the cooling unit.

But... no. He wasn't strong enough. He can't free anyone, not like this, and he'd promised to come back to free everyone.

"But watch over him, we must. Allow him to fall to the hands of the Sith, we must not."

It was getting harder to breathe. Anakin did not understand what the 'Sith' was, but it felt wrong. In fact,  _everything_  about this felt wrong.

They said Obi-Wan wanted to train him, but Obi-Wan also called them 'Masters'. So how much power did Obi-Wan have? What was going to happen to him?

The second one's voice grew quiet. Anakin felt hesitation in his voice. "There are other ways to keep him around, even without Jedi training..."

Anakin didn't hear the rest. His head was spinning, his heart beating furiously. What did they mean by that?

That was when the two Jedi rounded the corner, and saw him, and stopped still.

And he saw them, frozen as he were.

They exchanged glances.

He stepped back.

The tall one raised a hand, reaching out. "Wait, boy—"

Another step back.

"Listen—"

Anakin took another step, and another step, and another step.

He was being held back, as if an invisible hand was grabbing his collar. There was a flash of green by the corner of his eyes—

And Anakin lashed out, stretching his arms outwards. Some kind of wind roared past his ears. The diminutive Jedi master raised a clawed hand, sliding back slightly.

There was dead silence. Anakin felt shock in the air, as well as fear, directed at  _him_.

_The boy is dangerous..._

He was in trouble.

_Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangerous..._

Anakin didn't think. He ran. He ran like he never had.

He didn't hear the shouts and yells behind him, or the MSE repair droid tripping one of the Jedi, or how the strange wind in his ears was helping him run faster, whispering guidance on exactly where to go. He ran and ran until he was out of breath and knocked back by the astromech droid called Artoo Deetoo.

"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his chest.

There was a ventilation shaft that had its lids open for maintenance. He could hear footsteps approaching.

"Sorry, Artoo," Anakin said again, clambering up the blue and white droid.

Balancing on top of the dome, he leapt up, hanging on the shaft's entrance before pulling himself inside. He pushed himself further in and out of sight, muffling a cough with his sleeves as hot unpleasant wind blew past through the shaft.

The footsteps arrived below and he stopped moving, becoming still as stone.

"Droid," —it was the tall Jedi— "did you see a young boy come this way?"

Artoo made a disparaging sound before wheeling away.

"I can sense him nearby…"

Anakin hugged his knees tightly and closed his eyes, like how he used to hide from Gardulla's attention.  _I'm not here, I'm not here, I'm not here…_

He didn't know how long he'd been holding his breath, but eventually, the people below scattered at the Jedi's orders, and it became quiet again. He sighed in relief, leaning against the dirty shaft.

Tears kept forming in his eyes. Anakin wiped them off furiously, blaming the bad air inside the shaft, before burying his face in his arms. Mom had told him to be brave. Brave boys don't cry.

His sleeves just kept getting wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued?? (Poke me on [tumblr](http://thinkingheron.tumblr.com) for more info)


	4. A Stroke of Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not for any prompt but it's too short to be put by itself so I'm adding it here.

"Hurry, we're due in ten minutes!"

"I know, I know, I'm almost done. Stop nagging."

"...Don't you think the General looks too fat?"

"It's a nose art, Sinker, it doesn't have to be picture perfect."

"Whatever, just finish it quickly," Sinker grumbled, before adding undertone, "I can't believe I agreed to this."

"Okay, I'm done. Behold the latest and probably last masterpiece of the great Paintstain!"

Sinker looked up at the 'masterpiece', which was a crudely drawn head of two brothers with their General in between. Unimpressed, he checked his chronometer for the hundredth time. "Now get down here so we can get inside."

"Relax," Paintstain said, climbing down the ladder. "We only need to hold out for five minutes before--" He froze, staring at something behind them.

Or someone, Sinker thought glumly, before turning around and snapping into attention. Sure enough, General Plo Koon was there, silent and unreadable as always. Jedi were difficult to figure out, but if what they taught at Kamino was true, this would not end well.

Sinker wondered if getting punished for disrespecting their commanding officer would be better than getting killed in this mission. The odds were heavily against them this time. Sinker had no illusion of surviving it, which was why they started this stupid game. The dare was that no one will be able to report the questionable nose art before the gunship took off to its doom.

And of course, the General was the first to see it.

He hated his life.

Paintstain had finally reached the ground to stand in attention next to him.

"General, I-- we can explain--"

He faltered when the General raised a claw... and tapped his mask.

They were gathering a crowd now. Paintstain nervously rubbed his hand against his thigh, smearing the brown paint all over his shiny white armor. Sinker bit his lip.

They both stiffened when the General raised his hands. Behind him, Sinker could hear the sound of paint spraying and imagined Paintstain's 'masterpiece' getting ruined like all those times in Kamino whenever the latter's art was found by one of the trainers. Despite his annoyance, he felt a twinge of sympathy for the shiny.

The General finally lowered his hands, and unexpectedly stepped forwards to shake their hands each.

"I just came to say, good luck. To all of you," he rumbled. "May the Force be with you."

Then he just... left, heading for the other gunships.

The two clones exchanged glances, before looking back at the nose art. There were now two words added above:

PLO'S BROS

Paintstain looked like he was about to cry. "We won't let you down, sir," he whispered to no one in particular, before straightening his back and marching to the ship as if in a parade band.

"Rookies," Sinker muttered, rolling his eyes, and followed.

Plo's Bros gunship was the only one that survived.


End file.
